


Unwind

by JessieMay



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Delusional Tony Stark, Drunk Steve Rogers, M/M, Sciencey Drunkenness Serum, Serious Consent Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 06:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1809049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessieMay/pseuds/JessieMay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a few months after New York that Tony decided to help Captain America.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unwind

It was a long time before Steve Rogers showed his fellow Avengers a side of himself that wasn't all the stark professionalism and military bearing of Captain America, and much longer still that Tony himself got to see it. 

Occasionally, Tony had walked in on Steve talking alone with 'Tasha or Bruce or Thor or—hell, <i>Clint</i> even-- and caught him being human. He'd be smiling, laughing, sometimes _slouching_ ( to Tony's utter shock), and the super soldier looked in that instant so innocent, so pure and so alluring that Tony would be stunned to silence by the sight of it. But then Steve would see Tony and the visage would vanish, replaced in an instant by the walking, talking action figure.

It was frustrating. It wasn't just the idea that Steve was hiding aspects of his personality from him, or the discovery that Steve actually _had_ a personality (though that was quite a pill to swallow). In fact, Tony didn't think Steve's tendency to go suddenly frigid in his presence had anything to do with Tony. At all. What frustrated the mechanical genius was that the man didn't seem in control of it. He was physically incapable of not being the robotic Captain America as seen in the propaganda posters and interviews. Despite Tony's genuine efforts to get the man out of his patriotic shell, Steve was all business. With every attempt Tony made to kindly reach out to the probably-friendless social dullard, Steve just walled himself up all the more. Tony couldn't be blamed if the man was determined to island himself off from everyone. As far as Tony could see, he'd made every effort to welcome the man into their fold. Cap' was just inaccessible.

Bruce didn't seem to appreciate Tony's efforts either. It had been four times already that the soft-spoken man had pulled Tony aside to tell him to “ease off the fucking jokes.” Afterward, Tony always moored off a bit for a while, but he still didn't get it.

The New York incident had had a warming effect on their rapport, Tony noted, but nothing significant or lasting. Now that he's seen that the Captain _has_  another side, Tony has made it his personal project to coax it out into the open. Over the course of his extensive studies of the elusive mutant, it has become clear to Tony that Steve was having a difficult time maintaining this other, sweeter, more relaxed version of himself for very long before the uncool, uninteresting, super-boring Super Flag Man took the wheel. The philanthropist in Tony couldn't sit idly by and watch this poor, dull man suffer any longer, nor could the entertainer in him suffer having the the man continue occupying the corners of his parties like a giant, rigid ornament. It was a total downer.

He came to the decision that he would help Captain America.

 

 

Steve looks at him skeptically, but, Tony notes, with only a fraction of the righteous disapproval that was once a permanent laser trained to him every time he opened his mouth in the Captain's presence.

Steve is sternly silent, his eyes searching. He's been the butt of too many of Stark's jokes and doesn't trust the man so easily anymore, even though they're admittedly on much more cordial terms lately.

Steve stares, eyes squinting. He wants to know what Tony is up to, if Tony is just making fun of him again. But they're alone in Tony's quiet lab, and there's no audience around for the billionaire playboy to entertain at Steve's expense. The only noise is Stark's odd, robot arm who's busy toying idly in the corner with some trivial chore to which Tony had banished him so he'd stay out of the way.

“No tricks,” Tony says without a glimmer of a smirk. His dramatic eyebrows are raised high on his forehead expectantly. The offer is on the table. The ball is in Steve's court.

Steve is still unsure though so he tentatively nods, but folds his thick arms across his chest and maintains his doubtful expression to show that he's not fully convinced, in case Tony is still planning some elaborate reveal to make Steve look foolish and naive.

Tony takes him over to the complicated arrangement of vials and tubes and lifts a small glass capsule filled with a deep purple fluid. Steve eyes the small vial skeptically as Tony tells him what it is and explains its function in a long string of scientific jargon that causes Steve's eyebrows to scrunch up.

“It'll fuck you up,” Tony elaborates.

He offers the vial and Steve takes it.

 

 

Days later when Tony explains it to the Avengers, he begins with, “our humble Captain,” and masks his excitement with a scrupulous professionalism that convinces no one. He's building up to the big reveal and he can see in their faces that they don't understand where he's going with this. Bruce is already fixing him with a weary look because, Tony knows, the scientist thinks he's about to make yet another needless jibe at Steve's expense. He's about to feel like such an ass when he hears what Tony did instead. 

Tony holds up a finger. He pauses. He waits. He tells them.

There's a brief silence and everyone turns to Steve, who's been playing the unsuspecting spectator the entire time.

A small smile begins to play on his lips and Tony is impressed that the chronically honest man was able to hold it in so long. The room suddenly erupts with cat calls and hoots of laughter. They gather to smack Steve jovially on the back and congratulate him. The man who lead them fearlessly into battle, plotted every precise movement on the field; the man who spent all of his off-time training his body mercilessly in the gym to stay sharp on the battlefield, played political icon to their cause; the man whose posture had never been described as anything less than "board-rigid" or "damn impeccable"; Steve Rogers, their captain, was finally going to get drunk. And he was going to do it with his team.

There was no safer place, they all agree.

Tony watches the boisterous show and sees the meek joy peaking out through Steve's eyes. He's nervous and excited. Tony can see the sweet, pure and alluring man shining through the rigid uniform and he knows he's doing a good thing.

Bruce, the only one not piling all over Steve with raucous abandon, eyes Tony warily.

 

 

“Exactly, what did you use,” Bruce asks quietly, in the loud and bustling lounge of Stark Tower.

Tony tells him the name and the spoken string of long, conjugated titles is a true accomplishment in diction.

“You gave him a fucking horse tranquilizer,” Natasha guffaws.

Steve, who's sitting next to her on the large couch, looks over at him.

“Don't. You're scaring the kid,” Tony scolds her, but somehow Steve is laughing, and everyone else soon joins in.

Tony can't help thinking that if Steve hadn't already taken a dose of the purple fluid, he might not have found it so funny, but he's pleased regardless.

It's Friday night at last and they're sitting around Tony's lounge in Stark Tower. On the couch across from the billionaire host, sits Natasha and Steve. On Tony's right sits a seedy Bruce Banner, who has never made for a jovial drunk. Clint is thrown haphazardly across an armchair to his left and Thor is by the bar, impressing three interns with his unmatched chugging capacity. The lavish room is bustling with all ranks of S.H.I.E.L.D and Stark Industries personnel under all ranges of alcoholic influence, and nobody wonders why Tony get's away with so much.

They laugh and they joke and for once, Steve is not left out of the stupidity. It's a refreshing change that has all the Avengers on a high. One at a time and sometimes all at once, they pile on Steve to experience their captain in his basest form-- which honestly, is barely trashed. Tony deduces with disappointment that even when drunk, Steve maintains his unblemished modesty and dignity. He'd hoped the man would really cut loose tonight. Jump on a table. Break a glass. _Curse_. The worst Steve had done all night was laugh at a suggestive jab Tony had tossed at 'Tasha about her 'interrogation methods'. The soldier apologized immediately after, still laughing. Clint was more upset by it than anyone, but the archer had never really appreciated Tony's sense of humor.

 

 

It's nearly midnight now and Tony lounges on the couch with his drink in hand and Bruce mumbling, half-asleep next to him about the harsh futility of technological advancement, or something. Tony's eyes are on the far wall of the room.

Steve is more relaxed and unguarded than Tony has ever seen him. The proprietor of Stark Industries watches as the unlaced and debloused soldier laughs openly with Natasha by the window and even allows Thor to pull him close under his arm in a fierce and over-familiar embrace that is typical to the otherworldly Avenger. A permanent flush has settle across Steve's cheeks and he hasn't stopped smiling since his first drink. Tony wonders briefly how much of the serum Steve took but waves the thought away. Steve is among friends and safe to unwind. Tony is glad to see him like this. He is more sweet and pure and alluring than Tony could have imagined and the party host wonders, not for the first time, why Steve would ever want to hide this side of himself.

 

 

It's hours later now and they're alone, sitting on Tony's couch. The others have all gone and left their captain because he's safe and he's among friends. The super soldier is still holding a half-empty glass as he eyes Tony with a worn and tired smile.

“That wasn't so bad,” Tony chides, “being a person for a night.”

Steve's smile doesn't falter, though Tony has never seen him look more tired.

“It's been so long.”

Tony points to his glass and asks if he'll need anymore. The drink is not for looks. The purple serum, though potent, is only fully effective when ingested along with alcohol. Steve looks down at the glass as if noticing it for the first time and admits he hasn't taken a sip from it in about half an hour and is definitely done for the night.

Tony grabs a few of the left over empty glasses splayed around the dim room and leads his last guest to the kitchen.

Steve is suddenly at the sink and he's washing dishes.

Tony watches him for a moment, eyeing the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. Tony imagines Steve preparing for this night, going through his prim and modest wardrobe and thinking that the navy blue button-up with the white undershirt would be appropriately casual for the occasion. On anyone else, the outfit wouldn't draw a second glance from the two-time “Style-Headliner” of People Magazine, but on the captain, it's almost too quaint. The sight had been enough to make Tony grin openly when he'd first invited his awkward comrade in that evening, eyes wandering as he sauntered smoothly after him into the expansive lounge to join the others.

Tony finally rolls his eyes and slides in behind the superhuman who's washing his dishes.

"Please. Stop," he say's, reaching around Steve and halting his scrubbing hands with his own. His chest is brushing against the soldier's back and when Steve turns, their faces are inches apart. "You're new to this whole party-guest thing, I know, so I'll give you a little tip: You're doing it wrong.” Tony's other hand falls on Steve's hip as he guides him aside.

The beginnings of a sheepish smile spread across Steve's face as he visibly works out that Tony is teasing him again.

Steve lets Tony guide him away and rests against the counter while his host takes his place at the sink.

A moment later, Tony returns to take the last glass from Steve's foamy hands. Their fingers brush and a sound passes Steve's lips that catches them both off guard. Tony says nothing but moves back to the sink to rinse the glass. When he moves to set the cleaned glass in the cupboard, Steve is in the way. Instead of asking Steve to move, Tony's hands go to the narrow hips again and guide the larger man aside. Tony barely catches the soft hum as the soldier complies.

Steve stays in the kitchen as Tony moves around, cleaning up and wiping everything down and Tony doesn't ask why he's still sticking around. Steve watches, eyes hazy but intent as they following after every movement. Tony notes the soft furrowing beginning in his brow.

He asks how Steve is feeling and Steve stares distantly for a moment before meeting Tony's eyes.

“I feel very strange,” he says with a naked sincerity that makes Tony take a deep breath.

“Strange-bad?” Tony inclines his head and brushes past Steve again to rinse a cloth he'd used to wipe the counter tops. It's only a graze of their forearms as Tony wheedles a cloth to the bottom of the narrow cup but he lets the touch linger.

“It's... it's good I think.” He struggles for the words.

Tony sets the cup aside and drops the cloth in the sink.

“Good?” He turns directly to Steve's who's still holding himself against the counter and staring down at his arm where Tony had touched him.

“How long have you felt this way?” he asks in a doctorly tone, hand professionally fixed to his hip.

“I think for a while,” Steve thinks back, looking suddenly like a lost child. “A lot of the night.”

Tony makes a clipped humming sound like he's checking off a slot on a list of symptoms.

“Did it feel good the way Thor was touching you earlier?” he asks then, and catches the odd shift in his own voice. He ignores it.

Steve screws his eyebrows as if he's having a hard time either recalling it or understanding Tony's question.

“I think so,” he says finally, with some clarity.

Tony nods dutifully as if he's come to some evasive diagnosis.

“It's very natural,” his voice is soothing and paternal and he runs his hands up and down Steve's arms.

“Does that feel good,” he asks.

A hum is Steve's response.

“Yes, then?” Tony chuckles, then runs his hands up to broad shoulders to apply another firm squeezes.

“Mmmyes.” Steve's eye lids fall to half-mast at the contact and all the strain in his features falls away instantly. He's like a dog getting rubbed in just the right spot-- no, a puppy, Tony thinks. 

“And this?” Tony's hand slides to Steve's defined trap muscles at the base of his neck and he massages them too.

Steve hums and his head falls slightly back. Eyeing the exposed neck, tony's thoughts drift to the serum.

His fingers slide up to glide along Steve's jaw, then further north to graze flushed lips. His other hand slides back down to the drunk man's hip and he presses circles into him with is thumb.

Steve's mouth is open and his breaths sound more and more like moans.

It isn't only the serum, Tony assures himself. Steve is new. Steve is fresh and he's new. He doesn't know touch and intimacy and the stimulation is a new kind of intoxication for him, Tony is sure of it.

“How is this?” his voice is shaking as it creeps out from slackened lips. He is standing directly in Steve's space now and can no longer stop himself. It is already happening.

 

 

They're on the couch now in the dark lounge and Steve is on his belly beneath him and his pants are tugged to his ankles and Tony has never seen the captain in such a state.

Suddenly, Steve twists around and a hand thrusts out but he doesn't push Tony away. Is he too weak, Tony wonders, his thoughts coming fast and in pieces. Briefly the image of the serum flashes in his mind again.

Tony waits and waits but Steve doesn't push anymore.

Tony shoves his knees between Steve's thighs and wrenches them open.

The puckered flesh between the muscled mounds is pink beneath sweet blonde wisps of hair and Tony wants nothing more than to see it stretched and inflamed around the base of his cock, to feel the air-locked, humid insides twitching and convulsing around him, unable to accommodate the size and unable to eject him.

In a moment he feels it with his finger, then two. Steve is panting and grunting by still not pushing him away. Thoughts are speeding by. Did Tony do this?

Steve is tight, he's so tight, Tony can't breath. The hard, muscled thighs don't tense to fight him and Tony's mind persists that it's not the serum, that the boy is deprived and needs this and wants this like he does, always has.

His fingers are fucking Steve, and the man's moans are wheezing and guttural. His eyes are shining and pleading and-- God, he's so pure, Tony thinks. He's sweet and pure and alluring and Tony is going to fuck him all the harder for it.

But the serum.

Steve is gulping between gasps and Tony has somehow squeezed three fingers into his clamped opening.

He's watching the body that's rolling like waves beneath him. He leans over and captures the mumbling, clumsy lips and it's so sweet, even as he's fucking him fiercely with his fingers to the knuckle. He's sweet and he's pure and he's here...

And Tony can't do it.

The speeding thoughts slow.

Allowing his fingers to slip from the warmth of the other man, Tony retreats.

He's backing away and the erratic turbulence of the body of an unwound Steve Rogers begins to slowly still like a calming of an ocean after a storm.

Tony pulls up the pressed slacks that are now crumpled and soft, and clamps the smart belt around the narrow hips. He covers the heaving body in a knitted throw and the captain's moaning that, in the stillness of the house, suddenly sound more like soft weeping, are soon dying down until he is in a drunken, deep sleep.

When Tony goes to his own room to sleep, he tries to forget.

 

If Steve remembers anything that happened that night after everyone left, he says nothing to Tony or to anyone. In the coming weeks, he is stoic and he is professional and he is walled-up and Tony thinks that the captain has been saved from the memory of that night. But Tony cannot easily forget. He cannot forget the sweet mouth, the pliant thighs spreading beneath him, the tight, moist insides of the man whose guarding walls seemed so thick. Beneath the crisp uniform of the man standing at the head of the table, relaying plans and mapping out their next attack, Tony still sees the flush, rolling, welcoming body and knows firmly that he was the one to unwind Steve Rogers.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I had to get this out of my system. I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
